Reminder
by Sleeping Jay
Summary: Sometimes, Nine closes off. These moments, Twelve gives him a reminder. Pre-canon. Friendship.


**Title: **Reminder**  
>Author: <strong>jay**  
>Fandom: <strong>Zankyou no Terror  
><strong>CharactersPairings: **Twelve, Nine (friendship, but could be shouai if you squint very hard)  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>1315 words  
><strong>AN: **The characterizations might be off or not, since this depends solely on my interpretation without other fan material to influence me. Also, I'm pretending that their number designation depended on their proficiency at the Institution, although it probably didn't.

Timeline is after the escape but pre-canon.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Zankyou no Terror or its characters.

Edit: 18/10/2014

2nd Edit: 5/12/2014

* * *

><p>Sometimes, Nine closes off. He is there but his mind is not; he is lost in a world of his own, far, far away, untouchable except by <em>her<em>. _She _isn't here and Twelve is, but he cannot go there, he is... not on their level (_and oh, it _rankles). He can only bite his lip as he watches _his _partner's back, hunched over his tools, and he feels as if he has been left stranded and floundering on his own, for all that Nine is only several feet away.

These are the moments when Twelve wonders: _Is this the part where I lose him?_

Having a partner still feels a little like a dream. His first memories are of the Settlement, crystal clear and vivid, but sometimes his sleep brings dreams of a different, yet familiar, frightening cold. He does not dwell on it often, because then it is easy to assume that he has always been alone, never known warmth like the rest of humanity—like normal people. And Twelve needs neither the rush of bitterness that chokes his thoughts and turns him deaf and the world red, nor the almost overwhelming urge to scream and free his rage from the cage he keeps it under, let it run wild so this whole blind world will _see_.

It is easy to lose himself to the rage, and they do not need that, not now.

So as he clears away his own tools, he thinks about Nine _(his anchor, limb, parts of a whole)_, about them _(NineandTwelve)_, about Sphinx. They are really going to do it, this crazy plan. If it works out, and that is a very big if looming over them (like a monster—or rather, he adds bitterly, like _Hakase-san, _their old... caretaker), the world will know the truth and these human experiments will be investigated, might be stopped. If they succeed, maybe they can lay the ghosts of twenty-three tortured children to rest.

If they don't, they will die as meaningless criminals, just another set of terrorists the Japanese government cuts down.

Honestly, Twelve is scared. What he wants is a peaceful life, but unlike him, Nine is a man of purpose. Sphinx might have been Twelve's idea, a half-hearted attempt to brighten the mood after finding out that the scientists have not just ruined their childhood, but also their whole lives _(seven years at most, by my estimate)_, saying with fake but morbid cheer, _"Well, if we're going to die anyway, why not...?"_ but Nine is the one that has taken the idle thought and shaped it into something feasible. His focus is unshakeable when an idea takes root in his mind, and right now Sphinx is his purpose. It is a bit like facing a tsunami and pleading to God that you won't drown as the wave crashes onto you and you lose all sense of self, unable to tell where your limbs begin and the maelstrom of water ends.

Of course, leaving is out of the question, a joke at best. They will be together in this. More than drowning in the wave that is Nine and Sphinx, more than dying, Twelve is afraid of the cold of loneliness. After all, they are still together even after the Settlement, the escape, and the years afterwards. Twelve will not let go. _Cannot _let go.

He smiles to himself, wryly, and has to release the casing he is gripping before he accidentally breaks it. This is something the Settlement did right, at least. Does Twelve know how to live without Nine? Can he go to sleep without listening to the tinkering of metals, or the steady, deep breaths from five steps away? Walk through the day without the assurance of Nine's purposeful steps behind and beside him, the certainty that his partner will catch what he misses and guard his back? Because that is what they are: Nine and Twelve. Partners. Nine who still needs a partner to do things he cannot and to be his anchor to the world when his blade-sharp mind and purpose cuts himadrift of the world.

Can Twelve stop needing? Stop being needed? Stupid questions—_can he breathe without air?—_of course he cannot. They are each other's anchors. Twelve _will not let go_.

These are thoughts he does not want to spend time on. So he leaves the desk and messes around in the kitchen. He makes a face when he finds that Nine has bought the wrong noodle brand _again_—honestly, does Twelve really need to constantly remind Nine that he has delicate palates, okay, and pay more attention when buying the grocery, please, or there will be _consequences_—and pulls out the packets he has bought in advance instead. He cooks enough for two and extra for breakfast tomorrow, and makes silly emoticons—the internet is _the_ greatest invention _ever_—on it with soy and mayonnaise because he can and wants to.

This is the first time he tries this, but not the first time he does ridiculous things in Nine's presence. He will probably make that disgusted face and pinch the bridge of his nose like he is trying to stop himself from killing Twelve, but usually this is also accompanied by a small amused twitch of his lips that Twelve knows Nine thinks he cannot see. He smiles at the thought. Dinner will be fun.

He also makes sure Nine's favourite tea is ready, oolong and cold just as he likes it. It is a shame they cannot get higher quality brands but for all their genius, they are still teenagers barely out of adolescence whom no one prefers to hire. Cheap convenience store stuff is the best they can get regularly, but Twelve has a plan to bargain for quality leaves from the old lady in that ancient herbal shop two streets over, hopefully in time for Nine's birthday. It _is_ nice, though: they have stuff like favourites and birthdays now.

Then, just in case, he counts slowly to twenty. The time practically _crawls _by, and he is tapping his foot and pretty much bouncing on his feet around the kitchen, because he is the impatient sort and really, waiting is not his forte at all. It is Nine's, and it was the same at the Settlement too, and he remembers constant reprimands and punishments, though the only time he has ever been contrite of this is when he almost bungled their escape because of it.

Twenty comes and goes by and he shoots out of the kitchen and to Nine, heart pounding in his chest because he is still an afraid little boy after all and he cannot lose his—_partnerfriendotherhalf—_Nine. He does not stop to pause or think _(no hesitations, this is_ okay_)_, just stretches out his arms over the gap between them and hugs Nine.

It is a proper hug, even: his arms draped over black-clad shoulders, his chest pressed against Nine's back, heat circulating between them through the thin cotton of their shirts. His face is buried in the crook where neck and shoulder meets, cheek almost pressed to Nine's pulse. If Twelve tilts his head a little, his lips might meet it. Nine is stiff and clearly uncomfortable under his arms, shoulders tensed in an aborted move to curl inward and defend. He closes his eyes, savours the intimacy, and waits until the fight peters out and Nine slumps—not quite relaxation but it is not rejection, either. So, it is a victory, if bittersweet and a little sad.

It is _sad_; this, them, everything.

(Sometimes he thinks: it would be nice if someday, they could rest and not feel like they are choking.)

He will apologise later. Now, he needs to remind Nine that he is here.

They are here together, now and forever.

(Nine and Twelve. Twelve and Nine. Nineandtwelveandnineandtwelve.)


End file.
